How did my parents know? she wondered. They were right all along. She made a vow to listen more to them—particularly to throw away the diet drugs Jolie had stuffed into her backpack at school. She wouldn’t be needing those anyway. Her mother was right; if she ever did want to lose weight she’d do it the responsible way.
“Look,” she said to Celisse. “I know a way we can feel better and help Brandon. Let’s pray, okay? I’ll say the words and you just think about them in your head. Picture Heavenly Father in your mind—you know like Mom taught us in family night. Pretend like we’re speaking with Him. He’ll help Brandon.”
Celisse nodded and drew back a little to fold her arms and bow her head. Larissa marveled at her faith. Five weeks ago Celisse had never heard of God or Jesus Christ, but now she knew exactly what to do.
* * *
The EMT’s gave Brandon a shot of medicine, and by the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, his breathing was already less forced. “Looks like it’s working,” an attendant said as they rolled him into the emergency entrance.
“Good stuff,” agreed another.
Marie-Thérèse’s fear ebbed away, taking with it her energy. She stumbled after the men and gratefully sank into a chair next to Brandon’s bed. Thank you, Father, she prayed silently. Aloud, she said, “So he’s all right?”
“Yes. Or will be soon.” The young emergency room doctor was taking Brandon’s pulse. “But I think we’ll keep the oxygen on for just a bit more. Oh yeah, your doctor called. He’s on his way. Likely he’ll want to admit him for observation and full-scale allergy testing. Not very fun, but it’ll help us identify what happened.”
She sighed. “We’ve been through it before. It’s probably flour. Or bananas. Or both. He was eating banana bread when it happened.”
“A lot of children have wheat intolerance,” the doctor said.
“That’s about the only thing Brandon wasn’t allergic to.”
“Well, I’m sure you know that extra caution now and special foods can eliminate a lot of childhood allergies. When he’s an adult, he should have a better time of it.”
Marie-Thérèse took Brandon’s hand. “That’s something. For now, we’ll just keep plugging away.”
“I hear they make some pretty good flour substitutes.” The doctor smiled and put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “I’ll be checking in on you in a few minutes. Let us know if there’s any change.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
When the doctor left, Brandon tried to say something. Marie-Thérèse was relieved he was awake and that he had never completely lost consciousness. That alone had been a great reassurance.
“Aree,” he said.
“I can’t hear you. They want us to keep the oxygen on.”
Brandon pulled the piece up slightly. “Sorry.”
Marie-Thérèse shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I know it was pretty scary for you.”
He tugged at the oxygen again. “It was scary, but I wasn’t afraid—not of dying anyway.”
“Well, it’s over now,” she said, smoothing his hair. “I know you must be tired. Go ahead and rest. I’ll stay right here and keep an eye on you. Don’t worry about anything.”
Mathieu arrived a few minutes later, and Marie-Thérèse went to call Larissa. “Everything is fine,” she told her. “They gave him a shot, and it started working almost immediately. I’m going to ask the doctor about getting a kit to keep with Brandon. It’s stronger than the spray.”
“I knew he’d be okay. I knew it!” There was a tremor in Larissa’s voice. “Wait a sec. Let me tell Celisse.” Her voice became fainter. “Brandon’s all right. Didn’t I tell you he’d be fine? They fixed him, and he’ll be coming home soon.”
Marie-Thérèse was amazed at the kindness in her daughter’s voice. “Is everything all right there?” she asked.
“Yes, Raquel just woke up though. I think she’s hungry.”
“I keep a bottle in the fridge. You’ll have to heat it up in the bottle warmer. Check it on your wrist to make sure it’s not too hot.”
“I know how.”
Marie-Thérèse had been expecting more complaints, but Larissa seemed to be handling things without her. “Remember not to shake her to stop her from crying,” she warned. “If you can’t get her to stop, don’t get upset. Just put her in the swing or in her bed and leave the room.”
“I know, Mom. I won’t shake her. She’ll be fine. Don’t worry. She hardly ever cries anyway.”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Wait. Aunt Josette called and wants you to call her. She’s worried. But she has some news. She said that Rebekka is measuring bigger than she’s supposed to. It might be a problem. Or it might mean twins.”
“Twins would be great.”
Larissa laughed. “Aunt Josette sounded a little jealous. Don’t know why she’d want more children—she already has five.”
“I think she’d like a daughter.”
“Uh, Mom?” Larissa said.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe I know why Aunt Josette likes having so many kids. There’s a lot of . . . love in that family.”
Marie-Thérèse smiled at those words coming from her tough, spiky-haired daughter. “And in ours too,” she said softly.
“I know. I guess I’d better feed Raquel now. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.” Marie-Thérèse hung up the phone, wondering what had happened. The defiant, selfish daughter she had left hours ago seemed to have evolved into a new person.
Wiping her tears, Marie-Thérèse dialed Josette’s number.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rebekka was relieved when she woke Thursday morning without too much pain, but the torture began the moment she tried to get out of bed. She groaned softly as she kneaded her left side, trying to obtain relief. Her bowels were certainly clear now. Why hadn’t the pain subsided completely?
A tap at the door startled her. She had thought she was in the apartment alone—Raoul should have been gone to work by now. “Come in.”
Her brother stuck his head in the door. “How’re you feeling?”
She grimaced. “Not good. But I assume it’ll take a few days.” She hoped he couldn’t feel the fear in her voice. “Any news about Nadia?”
“Not yet.” He sighed and took a few steps into the room.
“Something has to break soon. I’m certain of it.”
Raoul brightened. “When you say it like that, I believe you. But you should worry about yourself right now. I know I haven’t been much help lately, but that’s going to change.”
“You didn’t tell Mom, did you? I mean about me fainting yesterday.”
“No. You know how she is. She’d be up all night worrying about you.”
“Good. I’d rather wait to see if there’s anything we should worry about before telling her.”
“I agree. I do have some good news. Brandon’s still doing fine this morning. According to André, he’ll be let go this morning after a few tests.”
“Poor Brandon.” Brandon’s attack had been unexpected and unwanted, but his condition had at least had taken her mind temporarily from the problem with her baby. Or was it babies? She placed a hand over her stomach. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you—however many you are.
“He’s a strong kid. He’ll be fine.” Raoul thumbed toward the hall. “I guess I’d better get going.”
“Yeah, why aren’t you at work?”
He looked chagrined. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Now that I’ll be officially divorced next week—something I can hardly believe though goodness knows I’ve paid a small fortune to have my lawyer push it all through. Anyway, now that I’ll be officially single, I . . . well, I was kind of thinking about Valerie, and I didn’t get to sleep until pretty late. I didn’t hear my alarm. I was thinking about Nadia, too, of course.”
“Of course.” Rebekka laughed and was pleased to see him smile.
“Do you think I
’m horrible?” he asked, picking up a sleek black statue of a ballerina that was on her dresser. “Thinking about asking Valerie out when I’m not even divorced? And when my daughter is still missing?”
“Actually, I’m glad to see you going on with your life.” Rebekka swung her legs out of bed, wincing internally at the pain. “You’ve done everything you can do about Nadia—hired the private investigator, walked the streets yourself, talked to everyone we meet. We’ve done everything we can, including that TV ad you and dad are planning. There’s nothing more you can do. As for Desirée, you haven’t lived with her for over eight months now, and heaven knows she never really considered herself married.”
His smile vanished and he set the ballerina down. “At least according to our divorce agreement, she won’t have unsupervised visiting rights. I insisted on that. If she wants to see Nadia, I’ll let her, but she’s not taking her anywhere.”
“I think that’s certainly best—for now. But some day that might change.”
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” He sighed and shook his head. “There are certainly a lot of complications in marrying people without the same values—things you never even think of when you’re young and in love.”
“Break-ups happen even in marriages where both partners are members. Don’t beat yourself up about it anymore. Go on from here and do your best. Don’t think about yesterday.”
Their eyes locked. “Is that how you get along?”
Rebekka shook her head, experiencing an abrupt and profound sadness. “Not yet. Sometimes I think I live only through the past.”
“You can’t live that way any more than I can.”
“I know.”
“I love you, sis.” Raoul hugged her briefly before retracing his steps to the door. He paused there. “There is a reason for all this, I believe there is. I just wish I knew what it was.”
As he left, his words haunted her. They seemed familiar somehow, but Rebekka couldn’t place them. Who had said something similar to her once before? And when?
She shrugged and pulled herself to her feet. Her belly seemed to have grown another inch during the night, though she knew it was only her imagination.
After dressing, Rebekka returned to her bed with her laptop. She worked for several hours translating, and then decided to design a flyer describing Nadia, her suspected whereabouts, and her description, including the information about the heart-shaped birthmark. At least this way she felt she was doing something to help Raoul. Despite the encouragement, she had given him, she was beginning to lose hope herself. She prayed that if they didn’t find Nadia, she would land in a good home with two loving parents.
Satisfied with the flyer, she forced herself out of bed again and down to the copy shop where she ran off a thousand and placed an order for five thousand more. “That should be enough to begin with,” she told the clerk.
On the way home, she stopped at Josette’s and gave her a third of the flyers.
“What a great idea!” Josette said. “We’ll blanket the area with these and soon every single person in Paris will have heard about Nadia.”
“I thought we’d start near Desirée’s old apartment building,” Rebekka said, supporting herself against the doorframe. “And spread out from there. Here’s the map I copied with the section you and the kids can do. You’ll need more flyers, but they should be ready by tomorrow. I paid extra for a rush job. If we work hard, we can have most of them done by Saturday.”
“Come in and sit down, Rebekka,” Josette said. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
Rebekka complied, feeling ready to do exactly that. “I’m still feeling pain,” she admitted.
“Look, give me all those flyers,” Josette said. “And the receipt for the others. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll call the young people at church and organize an army.” Her smile grew wider. “I’ll spend today planning and calling and tomorrow and Saturday we’ll mobilize. This is great! Why didn’t we think of this before?”
“We were supposed to have found her by now.” Rebekka was only too relieved to turn the project over to Josette. The pain in her left side was fading now, but she was suddenly exhausted.
“Well, this will help. If she’s still in Paris, we’ll find her within the week.”
“And if she’s not?”
Josette shook her head fiercely. “She is. She has to be.”
Rebekka was too tired to argue. Besides, she wanted to believe Nadia was in Paris and would soon be with Raoul. “I’d better get home,” she said, standing.
Josette’s fierceness faded. “You need to get some rest. A lot of it. Don’t take on too much, Rebekka. Being pregnant with one baby is hard enough, but if you really have two . . .”
Rebekka felt resentment—not at her advice, but at the worry that returned to her mind. “I just wish I knew what was going on—it’s hard.”
“I’ll bet.” Josette smiled in sympathy. “But if you do have twins, Marc’s never going to let me forget that when we see him again. All my life I told him I’d have twins before he could. You have to admit, it’s ironic.”
Rebekka could imagine how her husband would have made a joke out of the situation. “It is funny,” she said, laughing softly. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Sudden tears glistened in Josette’s eyes. “I was closer to Marc than I was to any human being except Zack. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him.” Josette reached for Rebekka’s hand. “Despite that, I know I can only imagine what you felt when he died. I hope you know how much we love you and want to help.”
“I do feel that—thank you.”
Josette smiled and let go of her hand. “Especially André. He wants to be there for you.”
Rebekka blinked in surprise. “He told you?”
“Yes. And I think it’s wonderful.”
“I don’t love him.”
Josette looked at her for a long time. “Yes, you do,” she said finally. “The question is, do you love him enough?” She turned from Rebekka and picked up the phone. “I guess I’d better start calling.”
Too stunned to make a witty comeback, Rebekka nodded. “I’ll see myself out.”
She was glad Josette lived on the bottom floor and that she didn’t have to wait for the elevator or have many steps to negotiate. Once in her car, she rested again until she felt strong enough to drive home.
Thoughts of André came to her mind, and Rebekka didn’t know which part of her body gave her more pain—her abdomen, her mind, or her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Early Friday afternoon, Marie-Thérèse came from the girls’ bedroom where she had just put Raquel down for a nap. She’d taken Celisse to the doctor for their appointment, where she had done well with the tests, and afterward Marie-Thérèse had taken the girls to the park.
“I know lunch is late today,” Marie-Thérèse told Celisse as she returned to the kitchen. “But we had to get Raquel to bed. She was cranky.”
“I not cranky,” offered Celisse.
“Nope, Celisse is being a good girl.”
Celisse beamed. “I went potty.”
“Did you go to the bathroom while I was feeding Raquel?”
Celisse nodded.
“Good girl. Now how about some chicken and rice? Does that sound good for lunch?”
“Mmm.” Celisse gave the same recommendation to any food Marie-Thérèse suggested, but the response always made her smile.
As they were finishing lunch, the phone rang, and Marie-Thérèse crossed kitchen to pick up the phone on the counter. “Hello?”
“Marie-Thérèse, it’s Pascale.”
“Hi. What’s up? Any news?” Marie-Thérèse prayed silently, though it was likely too soon for the abandonment case she had filed against Celisse’s mother to have achieved anything. She had hoped filing the case would speed up the adoption, but the wheels of the court moved slowly—especially where social services was concerned.
“
Well . . . there is news. But not all good.”
Marie-Thérèse tucked her hair behind her free ear and swallowed hard. “Tell me.”
“Celisse’s mother finally showed up today. Apparently she saw the ad we placed about putting Celisse up for adoption.”
“Is she’s protesting?” Marie-Thérèse held her breath.
“No. Actually, she came by to give her consent. She understands that after all the evidence we have against her, there’s no way we’re handing Celisse over. She still faces charges, of course, but if she gives Celisse up for adoption, proving that she’s trying to do what’s right for her daughter, they will decrease significantly.”
“But that’s good. Unless . . . she doesn’t want to give Celisse to someone else, does she?” Marie-Thérèse’s heart began beating more rapidly.
“No. I told her all about you and your family, and she seemed satisfied that Celisse was in good hands. I said I could arrange a meeting, but she didn’t seem to need that. Frankly, I don’t think she really cares. It’s sad but true. She’s just doing what she can to get herself out of trouble.”
Marie-Thérèse abruptly realized what Pascale hadn’t been saying. “Oh, it’s Raquel, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Pascale’s voice was gentle. “Celisse’s mother says Raquel isn’t her daughter, that she was baby-sitting. We’re not sure she’s telling the truth, so we’ve got DNA testing scheduled for this afternoon—if you can make it. If it turns out she’s telling the truth—that’s she’s not Raquel’s mother—we’ll have to turn the case back to the police to find out who Raquel really is.”
Marie-Thérèse started to cry softly, placing her hand over the receiver so Pascale wouldn’t hear.
“Marie-Thérèse, are you there?”
“Yes,” she managed.
“The test is at two. We want to test both girls, just to be sure.”
“Will it hurt?” Marie-Thérèse didn’t want them to face more pain.
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